I was driving, listening to a podcast (my current preferred in-car entertainment) when I heard that statement. It was arresting. Almost literally. I was so struck by that thought that I had to pull over to process it for a moment.

I and we (meaning our congregation at Woodridge UMC) believe LGBTQ+ people should have all the rights available to heterosexual, cisgender people both in civil life and in the United Methodist Church.

That should just be a given: as followers of Jesus, advocating for the humanity of all people and treating people the way we want to be treated should be first and foremost how we define ourselves. And yet, especially in the UMC right now, that is anything but a given*. In fact, no matter how well the Special General Conference goes, we are unlikely to achieve equality in 2019. Worse, we may even lose some of the gains we’ve achieved toward inclusion. But if we do, it will be worth it to stand with marginalized people for justice. “Some things are worth losing for.”

We tirelessly dedicate ourselves to living the reality of our baptismal vows: resisting evil, injustice, and oppression. We do this by seeking justice for people of all sexual orientations and gender identities….

We witness the lives of many of our friends who have not felt welcome inside the doors of United Methodist churches. Their calling, their ministry, and even their baptism have been questioned. But we still believe in the best of what The United Methodist Church can be: a movement where social and personal holiness blossom in a wide variety of contexts including in communities outside of the United States.

We have much to learn together.

*Truthfully, supporting full LGBTQ+ inclusion was certainly not always a given for me either. I had a conversion experience — in seminary of all places! — after leaving the white evangelical subculture. I most recently shared that story as part of a sermon called, “Ruining Our Good Name.” You can listen to it here.

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To paraphrase one of our great musician-philosophers, “Infinite war, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing!”

But in the whole of human history, what has been more constant than war? Further, many of us were taught history, both of our country and of the world, through a series of wars. War seems to define us.

On the other hand, to paraphrase one of our great warrior-philosophers, “My faith’s in people, I guess…And I’m happy to say that, for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down either.” Maybe war doesn’t have to define us.

Can Stan Lee and a bunch of his Marvel creations help us understand the battle of words happening in Isaiah 36 & 37? Yes! Of course I’m biased toward the power of comics, so your milage may vary.

[Marvel’s] stories have room for everyone, regardless of their race, gender or color of their skin,” he said. “The only things we don’t have room for are hatred, intolerance and bigotry. — Stan Lee

I’m going to make an effort to chose the battles that matter. Battles against injustice, against cynicism, against intolerance. — Captain America

Bigotry and racism are among the deadliest social ills plaguing the world today. But, unlike a team of costumed super-villains, they can’t be halted with a punch in the snoot, or a zap from a ray gun. The only way to destroy them is to expose them—to reveal them for the insidious evils they really are…Although anyone has the right to dislike another individual, it’s totally irrational, patently insane to condemn an entire race—to despise an entire nation—to vilify an entire religion…We must fill out hearts with tolerance. For then, and only then, will we be truly worthy of the concept that [humanity] was created in the image of God–a God who calls us ALL—His [sic] children. — Stan Lee

My intended thesis: True wisdom is always rooted in love. What theme did you hear?

Likely the best part of the sermon (though such a designation is ultimately up to you, dear reader/listener) :

Prof. Howard again: “This story is a startling reminder of the depths of human despair and our continual yearning for God’s presence among us.”

We don’t lack for stories of human despair, nor do we feel so satiated by God’s presence that we no longer yearn for more.

We need wise words rooted in love because hateful, violent words foment hateful, violent actions. 11 people are dead in Pittsburgh because the shooter lived into the “wisdom” of white supremacy, white nationalism, neo-Nazis. We must ask ourselves: What role does a distorted, hateful version of Christianity play in this? Let’s be like the author of Kings and be honest about our violent past. For centuries, from the beginning really, some Christians have read the gospels as if God hates Jews. That hateful, violent language fomented many tragic hateful violent actions against Jews.

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Hey look, I can post something other than sermon audio and accoutrement.

Stories are powerful. That’s not revelatory in any way. I know this. And yet, for months now, I’ve really wrestled with how we interact with stories: what stories do for us, what they do to us, how they define us, how they restrict us. I wrestle with this in terms of preaching and teaching at church, sure. I mean, I included this idea in the title of the first sermon in my series on the book of Ruth. And we’re investigating stories in our weekly youth group gathering. But it goes beyond church applications. What stories do we tell about our neighborhoods? About our families? About our politics?

That last one…oh, boy. That’s the proverbial $64,000 question, is it not? That’s the one we here in USAmerica have been falling all over ourselves trying to answer since the 2016 election brought us the shitstorm that is our current president. What stories got us to this point? How is it possible 62 million of us were perfectly fine checking that box for a man who is openly and unrepentantly racist, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, xenophobic? Who openly and unrepentantly admits to sexual assault and is a cheating, lying, lout? What stories could possibly justify that?

Some of the answers are fairly obvious: decades of shitty, douchebag, dudebro, white frat boy rape culture coupled with centuries of white supremacy and its long, lingering tentacles.

I’m no sociologist (at least not a professional one. We’re probably all sociologists though, just as we are all theologians, even if we are unaware of it), but I wonder if we can drill down to the core of the stories we tell, the stories with which we surround ourselves? In so doing, can we learn enough about ourselves to answer the questions of the moment? Can we learn enough to change?

This week in youth group, I asked our students and adult leaders to write down no more than three of their favorite TV shows, movies, and books. Then we looked for connections among each person’s responses. Some noticed that all their choices were in the same genre — comedy or sci fi. Or they picked all detective stories or stories that focused on cool vehicles. (These are middle school students, after all.) Or stories of powerful kids. Or stories that are about the search for identity. (Ok, probably no surprise that was me.) Some saw no connections at all, their responses were so varied.

Those lists offer some insights, but as a way to keep digging I asked: To what types of stories are we attracted? What types of stories do we avoid? I intend to push farther into those questions next week as we consider how our interactions with, and preferences for and against, certain stories affects how we approach biblical stories. Which in turn affects the life of faith we strive to live.

As a group, our older students concluded they like to read dark stories but watch funny ones. We’re not yet sure what that means for them. We aim to find out.

Stories are space-time machines. Through them, we can explore distant galaxies, visit the ancient past or the far future, and peek inside other people’s hearts and minds…The magic of escapist fiction is that it can actually offer you a genuine escape from a bad place, and in the process of escaping, it can furnish you with armor, with knowledge, with weapons, with tools you can take back into your life to help make it better.

But Peper also shares a story of his courageous grandmother which leads him to this insight, truly a light-bulb moment for me:

But the Nazis who persecuted Helen, my grandparents, and so many millions of others were also inspired by stories. Theirs were stories of militant nationalism, will to power, racial superiority, and the return to a mythical past, stories that are disturbingly resurgent today. The Allies and the Axis both had stories they were willing to die for.

That’s part of our answer for the rise of Trumpism, is it not? The alt-right and all their supporters, both direct and indirect, tell themselves stories of “militant nationalism, will to power, and racial superiority.” As unbelievable as it seems to me that anyone could buy into those disgusting stories as a way of life, we must conclude that they are true believers.

Take a moment to consider what that story [you’re enjoying] means, what larger narratives it fits into. Is it something you would die for? Is it something you would die to prevent? Who might suffer, and who might be empowered, if it were to come true?

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For most weeks this fall, we’re following the Narrative Lectionary. Because the best narratives — the best stories — are powerful, moving, inspiring, and endlessly fascinating. (More on that in upcoming, non-sermon posts.)

I usually chaff when the assigned readings skip over the difficult parts, so instead we read almost all of Exodus chapter 14. (We do have some time constraints, as much as I might wish it were not so.)

This sermon is a bit shorter than recent ones. You’re welcome. 😉

My intended thesis: God is still working to save people from oppression. God calls us to be agents of that liberation. But, as always, I would very much like to know what you hear as the main point.

Studies indicate roughly 50% of teens who identify as transgender have attempted suicide. BUT… Research shows that if a transgender teen has even just one supportive person in their life they can go to, it greatly reduces their risk of suicide.

Too often the church has not only not been a place of support for LGBTQ youth, but instead it has — tragically and much to its everlasting shame — led the charge to make all places unsafe for LGBTQ youth…and adults. We must repent of that and change immediately.

Money quote from me (if I may say so):

Imagine that. In an era where belligerence and bellicosity are rewarded with…the presidency or a seat on the Supreme Court, the Academy of Pediatricians breaks through with a simple truth and we too often seem to forget: to those whom society excludes and oppresses, we need to offer understanding, respect, and unconditional love.

As I always say, sermons are not just academic papers to be submitted. Inflection, tone, audience reaction, etc. all matter. Sermons are meant to be heard. (Heard and seen would be even better, but audio is what I’m able to share.)

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Our Ruth trilogy comes to an end this week as we look at the last two chapters of this fantastic and, as it turns out, fantastically relevant story. I feel like there is still so much to be said about the book of Ruth. Which, I suppose, is part of what makes it so great — you can’t possibly find all this story can teach us in three weeks.

In part 3 here, I reference a terrific one-off graphic novel called, Nightwing: The New Order which has this to say about present day USA fictional Gotham 30ish years from now (emphasis mine):

We grow up getting glimpses of who our parents were before we knew them. We look at photographs, we watch videos, we listen to stories. We try to learn about them so we can learn more about ourselves. In 2028 my dad saved the world, but…it was complicated.

Eventually I learned how even good people can come to believe in really terrible things.

Public Libraries are the best thing ever

I think the book of Ruth tries to answer the same question from the post-exilic era. Ezra and Nehemiah came to believe really terrible things about Moabites. The book of Ruth serves as a polemic against the violent, hateful, exclusionary policies of Ezra and Nehemiah.

In the spirit of Ruth (The Good Moabite) — and contra the Trump administration — let’s tell a different story this week. Let’s tell a better story than one that calls for separating families and sending women and children out into the wilderness to die. A story that echoes the saving work of God, one that echoes Ruth and Naomi and Boaz, one that echoes Jesus — tell a story that demands all people be treated as neighbors.

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We know this. Almost instinctively, we know this. Genre helps determine what we expect from a story and how we understand that story. We read and react much differently to, say, an issue of National Geographic than we do to an issue of a superhero comic.

Sometimes it only takes a few words for us to instantly know with what type of story we are dealing:

“Dateline Chicago, August 31, 2018”

“Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away”

“Once upon a time…”

We have vastly different expectations for news stories and fairy tales. Yet, many different kinds of stories — that is, many different genres — can interest us, excite us, teach us, or inspire us.

The bible is no different. Biblical stories contain a multitude of genres. Sometimes we forget that. Or worse, sometimes some of us feel we aren’t even allowed to admit that. But it remains true.

In Part 1 of this sermon series on Ruth, I tried to look at the macro view. Here in Part 2, I focus in close, suggesting that the type of story Chapter 2 most resembles is a Romantic Comedy. That sounds a bit ridiculous, I know. But give it a listen and see what you think. My intended point: Ruth, Boaz, and Naomi show us love, kindness, and generosity are how we embody God’s way in the world.

Money quote from Katharine Doob Sakenfeld again: “The story illustrates how loyal action, kindness, and good will produce a surplus that can both break down dividing walls of hostility and open new horizons to shattered lives.”

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Some day I will post something other than a sermon here. Really I will. I have a whole host of drafts and otherwise unfinished ideas. You’ll see them…as soon as I access my inner Rocky Supinger.

This past Sunday we kicked off a new sermon series on the book of Ruth — by necessity, much shorter than the previous Acts of the Apostles series as Ruth consists of a mere four chapters. I have three weeks to play with, so we’ll read almost the whole book during this series.

I haven’t often listed sources consulted as I prepare sermons. They are usually just nuggets I read, see, or hear throughout the week from books, blogs, videos, radio, TV, and podcasts. But this week I relied more heavily on two books:

Boy, that title, right? Whatever you may think of Bell, there is no denying he has a high view of what scripture can do.

My intended thesis: “Optimism is rebellion.” Ruth is a rebel. We need to be rebels too.

Oh, as I say in the sermon, that brilliant, beautiful “Optimism is rebellion” line comes from Laurence Holmes’ excellent podcast, “The House of L.”

Moab plays quite the significant role in this story, so I used this map to help visualize where the story’s action (or, you know, lack thereof) takes place:

The sermon is a little long for our standards — but still shorter than many of the “teaching’ models I see employed by churches in our area. So I won’t apologize for that. I spent a decent amount of time trying to set the macro view. It is up to you, dear listener, to decide if I succeed in that effort. What do you think?

“There is plenty in our city, in our country, in our world to be pessimistic about. But rebellions are built on hope. No matter what horrible thing our president does or says next, we can be rebels of hope and optimism by standing along side those on the margins of society. The vulnerable ones among us. We need to be this kind of rebel.”

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Getting into good trouble by welcoming outsiders is the only faithful response to exclusion. That’s my argument in this sermon, continuing the theme of the previous sermon by using John Lewis’ beautiful phrase.

Writing about my Acts 17 sermon, which took place the week before this one, I admitted I wasn’t as bold as I should have been confronting the evils of our country’s current policy of separating families of immigrants and refugees, lying to those families about when they will be able to see each other, and putting the children in cages. I also vowed to do better.

Did I succeed in that goal? Ultimately, that is up to you, dear reader/listener, to discern. I think I so. In fact, I think this is pretty strong. One of my better sermons. But, as they say, your mileage may vary.

What do you think?

Chapter 18 features Paul doing a ton of traveling. So yet another map helps me visualize where all he different places the action takes us: Athens, Corinth, Ephesus, Caesarea, Jerusalem, Antioch, Galatia, and Phrygia.

Three other visual aids made their way into this sermon:

Apparently I say this with some frequency.

The “Kind is cool” bracelet that could not carry the weight of our current presidential administration’s meanness.

Turns out this got thrown away so I can’t show you a picture of it. You’ll just have to imagine it as I toss it away into the first pew during that part of the sermon.